


Kabuki

by pizZiCcato



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Kabuki, Edo Period, Gen, Kabuki - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizZiCcato/pseuds/pizZiCcato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murasakibara doesn’t fancy sitting in a stuffy theater all day, so he can’t wait for the shows to end. But when it’s finally time for the last show, he wished that it would last longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kabuki

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had the idea for this thing for ages, but didn't get around to writing it until two months ago. I finished the first draft in half a week and left it alone for half a month, then I started checking it for mistakes. There were quite many.
> 
> FYI: My knowledge of Kabuki is limited to what Wikipedia can offer me, so yeah.

The air felt stuffy inside the theater. Even in their private booth, the temperature is still too high for comfort. It must be because of the number of people in the room with them. A low buzz of constant chatter filled the room, and every once in a while, the audience would break out into a round of cheer and applause, sometimes insults thrown at each other. How vulgar.

This is precisely why Murasakibara hates theaters.

It took all his willpower to keep himself from fidgeting. He was really tempted to pull open his kimono top because it was just that hot, despite the time of the day. If he had kept track of time correctly, the sun should be setting about now.

To his left, Aomine sat, chin resting on his left hand. He didn’t seem as bothered by the stuffiness of the room as he was bored. “Akashi,” he drawled, “What are we doing here? If we’re going to a theater, can’t we at least go to one with women? Why are we watching _wakashu-kabuki_?”

Akashi, who was sitting a little in front of them, turned to look at Aomine over his shoulder. “Please mind your manners, Aomine,” he warned, referring to the lack of honorific used when Aomine addressed him, “And how many times do I have to tell you that this is also a form of art? Even if you can’t interest yourself in the performances, please bear in mind that it is important to invest in some education on popular matters. Besides, _onna-kabuki_ has been banned, and I recall telling you this many times already.”

“I know that! But you’re the only one who needs to know about these ‘popular matters’, so what am I doing here?”

“You know what, sometimes I wonder how someone with your level of intellect could manage to serve me for so long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Murasakibara sighed. “It means you’re stupid.”

Aomine gave him a sharp look. “So does that mean you’re so smart or something?”

Murasakibara resisted the urge to slap himself, or maybe Aomine. “Use your head,” he said, exasperated, “As samurais working under a lord, we’re supposed to protect him no matter where he goes. Was that so hard to figure out?”

Aomine looked like he was about to argue further, but he was stopped by Akashi who simply raised his hand. “The next show is starting,” he said. His eyes warned Aomine to keep his mouth shut, which he thankfully did.

To be honest, Murasakibara himself wasn’t too happy about having to sit in a stuffy theater all day. The performances start in the morning and end late in the evening, and Akashi isn’t the type to do things in half, so of course he’d want to watch the shows from the start. And because Akashi is Aomine and Murasakibara’s lord, of course they had to tag along to protect him.

Murasakibara had no interest in the shows whatsoever. Even if it were women performing on the stage, he still wouldn’t be interested, because he doesn’t like seeing people dressed up so fancy it’s hard to tell what they really look like. Really, he can’t see the charm in that.

So far, the only thing that’s keeping him from throwing a tantrum was food. The teahouse hosting the theater’s shows had been generous enough to provide Akashi’s group with tea and sweets. The amount of sweets was far from enough to placate Murasakibara, but it will have to do for now. After all, Akashi had promised to give him as much sweets as he wanted after this.

Murasakibara yawned as the next show ended. The audience’s loud cheering quieted down to the low buzz of chatter as the actors prepared for the next set. The air seemed to have grown hotter, even though the sun really _must_ have set by now, and Murasakibara was about to point this out when the lights suddenly went out.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Akashi said when Murasakibara and Aomine immediately went alert, “The last show is just starting now.”

Murasakibara and Aomine stayed on guard until one of the lights was lit up again. It was a torch in the middle of the stage, behind a thin film of something that allowed light to filter through. A lone person was sitting in between the torch and that thin film, casting a silhouette on the film that stretched the entire width of the stage. From what Murasakibara could see, the actor seemed to be kneeling in _seiza_ position.

The music started with a thud of a drum, followed by the echoing click of some instrument Murasakibara couldn’t name. Then a flute’s high-pitched whistle joined the drum’s thuds. The performer slowly spread out his hands, his _furisode_ ’s long sleeves hanging from his arms. The music continued for a while before it ended abruptly.

Murasakibara was surprised to find himself drawn to this particular show. Something about it caught his interest. Maybe it’s the way the performer’s form is still hidden. Maybe it’s the darkness of the theater causing a different atmosphere. Maybe it’s because the audience was silent for once, so he can actually pay attention to the performance.

The sound of _koto_ broke the silence and the performer was on his feet immediately. He moved from sitting to standing quickly, but he did it so smoothly it almost seemed like he was moving in slow motion. He started dancing, gliding gracefully across the stage behind the film. As the music started slowing down, the performer bent his body backwards, one of his arms stretching up, as if reaching for the sky, and held the pose as the music stopped once again.

And then he sang.

Suddenly the rest of the world ceased to exist. The audience’s cheering, which had only just begun, became drowned out entirely. The music accompanying the performance also faded out. Even Aomine and Akashi disappeared from his sight. Honestly, someone could’ve stormed in to slash everyone to death at that moment and Murasakibara wouldn’t have noticed, because at that moment, the only thing that mattered was that performer’s voice.

_I want to see his face_ , he found himself thinking. _I wonder what he looks like_ , he thought as the performer started dancing again. He cursed the film that’s preventing him from seeing the performer. But at the same time, he was also scared to see that person, because this whole thing was so dreamlike he was afraid everything would disappear when he saw that performer’s true form.

As if laughing at his dilemma, the film slowly moved to the side. The performer kept dancing, undisturbed by this. Murasakibara shivered in anticipation, or maybe it’s dread. He didn’t know.

The film has disappeared, and finally, finally Murasakibara can see what the performer looks like.

Well, kind of.

The performer was surprisingly tall. Not as tall as some people Murasakibara knew, but taller than most of the performers he’d seen today. The clothes he was wearing were surprisingly simple. His _furisode_ was purple with swirling black patterns on it, a hint of blue and red here and there. It wasn’t as fancy as what the other performers wear, but it was still beautiful.

His face though. Murasakibara can’t see his face properly.

The left side of his face was hidden behind his hair, which was kept in place by some hair ornaments. He was wearing white makeup with some red around his right eye, probably his left too. There was a beauty mark near his eye, which was not painted over by his makeup.

_He’s so pretty._

The performer kept his visible eye shut as he danced and sang. He had this very solemn look on his face, which remained even when the song sped up and became more spirited. But even though his face remained expressionless, his voice and the rest of his body expressed enough emotion to make up for it.

_I want to see his eyes_ , Murasakibara suddenly thought. _What color are they? Are they as expressionless as the rest of his face?_

_So beautiful._

_I can’t take my eyes off him._

He was thinking about all sorts of stuff, but his head also felt strangely clear. Right now, he doesn’t know what to think at all. Has he ever felt anything like this before?

The performer continued dancing and singing, oblivious of his audience’s inner turmoil. Wait, he’s not singing anymore. He’s still dancing, but he’s not singing. It doesn’t seem like the performance is ending anytime soon though, so Murasakibara doesn’t need to feel worried yet. (Worried for what, though?)

It was then that Murasakibara noticed the performer’s right eye was open just the slightest bit. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Slowly the performer’s eye opened wider until Murasakibara could see his gray iris.

The performer scanned the audience slowly. Murasakibara held his breath. _Did he see me? Of course he didn’t, there are so many people here, why would he notice me? Well, I’m unusually tall and we’re sitting in a private booth, but really, there are too many people for one to stand out–_

At that moment, the performer looked Murasakibara’s way. Murasakibara thought he saw his brow rising slightly, but it could’ve been his imagination. He wondered if he’d imagined the performer’s attention lingering on him. Maybe time had just slowed down for him.

The performer smiled, just a slight twitch of his lips, and turned away from Murasakibara, visible eye closing once more.

Then suddenly the rest of the world existed again.

Murasakibara blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness of it all. The music accompanying the performance – _koto_ , flute, drum, and all – was back. Aomine was sitting to his left with a look of slight interest (Murasakibara felt something coiling in his gut). Akashi was sitting a little in front of them, a look of approval on his face (Something akin to pride swelled inside Murasakibara). The audience was chanting something repeatedly, and it took Murasakibara a moment to realize that it was a name.

“Himuro! Himuro! Himuro!”

“Himuro,” he whispered, low enough so nobody else could hear. He finally has a name to associate with the performer. Along with this new knowledge, a burning desire grew inside him. He wants that man. He wants Himuro. He _needs_ Himuro. For what reason or purpose, he didn’t know. He just knew that he had the strong urge to feel Himuro’s presence, to make sure that he was real and not just something his mind came up with.

With one last run of notes on the _koto_ ’s strings, Himuro’s dance slowed to a stop. He turned his back to the audience, right arm reaching up while the left one spread out to his side, and turned his head to the right slightly so he can give the audience one last look, grey eye glinting, as the room turned dark once again.

“I want him,” Murasakibara found himself saying amidst the audience’s cheering. In the darkness, he felt Aomine and Akashi’s surprised gazes on him. He’d surprised himself too, actually. He wasn’t planning to just blurt it out like that, but what’s done can’t be undone.

“I thought you weren’t interested in the shows,” Akashi said. Murasakibara’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough for him to make out the intrigue in Akashi’s eyes.

“I wasn’t. I just want him. I’ll skip on the sweets if I can have him.”

Aomine looked alarmed. “You’ll skip on sweets for some man you’re seeing for the first time?”

Murasakibara glared at Aomine. “Shut up,” he hissed. He turned to Akashi. “Akashi-sama,” he said, using Akashi’s name and the proper honorific for once, “I want him.”

Akashi smiled. “Of course,” he said, standing up, “I will arrange everything with the proprietor immediately.”

Murasakibara’s pulse thrummed with anticipation as Aomine looked on in incredulousness. _Soon_ , he told himself, _I’ll be able to meet him soon._

Later, when he finally meets Himuro in person, he will fidget awkwardly as he tries to think of something to do or say. Later, he’ll be scolding himself for not thinking of something sooner. Later, he’ll be desperately trying to talk to Himuro without stumbling over his words. But at this moment, those things didn’t even cross his mind, because just being able to meet Himuro in person was enough to make him forget everything else.

**Author's Note:**

> wakashu-kabuki : kabuki with only young men as the performers  
> onna-kabuki : kabuki with only women as the performers  
> seiza : a way of kneeling with the legs folded under the thighs and butt resting on the heels  
> furisode : traditional kimono with very long sleeves, sometimes almost body-length
> 
> As much as I'd like to write what happens afterwards, there are many things that I still don't know how to write (if you know what I mean, lol) so I just left it hanging. Maybe someone would write the following events. I'd very much like to read that.
> 
>  
> 
> Last year's MuraHimu Day, I posted Sakura.  
> One year has passed since then.  
> Time sure flies.  
> I wonder if my writing has improved, even if it's just a bit.  
> Happy MuraHimu Day  
> Happy Birthday to SuzuKen
> 
> Now I gotta start thinking about what to do for MidoTaka Day. I still don't have the foggiest idea.


End file.
